Bloody Wonder
by The Phantom Alchemist
Summary: Mrs. Lovett has finally worked herself into a fever... How does the barber upstairs primarily responsible react? Sweenett... maybe a little ooc, but since it's fluff, you don't mind, maybe?
1. Collapse

**Okay… this idea is drastically overdone, but I wanted to anyway, so off we go. This is my first Sweeney Todd fanfiction and the second one I've done for a movie (I mainly write anime fanfics). But I am totally obsessed with Sweeney Todd and I was always just SO UPSET that he and Mrs. Lovett didn't get together in the end and go live by the sea like she wanted. I understand the whole symbolic aspect to it – like, he finally had his revenge and therefore was totally hollow, so his character kind of needed to die and all that jazz, but COME ON.**

**So, take a guess at how this is going to end.**

**Anyway, enjoy.**

* * *

"Toby, love, wake up!" Mrs. Lovett called from the kitchen as she dropped a scone onto a plate dusted with flour. Everything in her kitchen was dusted with flour. As she blew it off the top of the plate, she heard the boy call faintly that he'd be out in a moment.

She sighed an briefly held her head, pressing against her left temple as she tried to relieve the throbbing headache that had been plaguing her for the past two days and had grown considerably worse as of this morning. She hadn't been feeling quite up to par for the last few days now, but with all the work to be done she didn't dare take a moment's rest. Especially now that Mr. Todd's business was, much like her own, thriving. He would send on average, two of what Mrs. Lovett called "fresh supplies" a day, come down from the chute linking his barber shop to her bake house.

Toby stumbled into the kitchen, his hair askew the way he'd slept on it and his vest unbuttoned. "Morning, Mum," he said groggily amidst an enormous yawn.

Mrs. Lovett smiled affectionately at him. A godsend, that boy was. If he wasn't around to help her during the evenings, when her business was at its best, her bones surely would have dropped by now. "Morning, dear. Now, come on over here, you get yourself some breakfast. Lots to do today," she said breathily, arranging day-old blueberries from the market onto the plate next to the scone. "Hopeless, that man is," she said half-heartedly, casting her gaze towards the ceiling. She could never bring herself to fully criticize Mr. Todd. " I reckon Mr. T wouldn't eat a thing at all if I wasn't 'round to bring 'im his meals mornin', noon, and night." She pulled two cups from the shelf below the counter and passed one to Toby. His fingers brushed against hers as he took it.

Toby paused. "You're awful hot, Mum," he observed, looking slightly worried. He worried too much about her, Mrs. Lovett always said. "You feelin' alright?"

"It's fine, dear. Nothin' to be done, what with all the work to do 'round here." So it wasn't all in her head, like she'd thought. She did have a fever after all. She poured water from a jug into the cup she'd held onto and plopped it down on a tray next to the plate. A cloud of flour swirled into the air and she waved her hand through it. "All right, I've got to go get breakfast to Mr. T," she sighed. "For heaven's sake, dear, keep out o' the gin this mornin'."

"Right, Mum," Toby replied, seating himself and tucking into the scone like he hadn't seen food in days. The boy always ate like each meal was his last. And, Mrs. Lovett had to remind herself constantly, what with Mr. Todd and his business, each might very well be.

She picked up the tray and felt a tremble rack her body. The room spun. She let out a gasp and steadied herself.

"Mum?"

"I'm quite alright, Toby, dear," she breathed. The room was still spinning. Her head was pounding violently. "Just a bit tired, is all." But it was more than that. Of course it was more than that. The headache was boring into her skull, making even her eyes hurt. She could feel the fever raging in her blood, spreading through her limbs like a poison. And she was tired. She felt weak enough to keel over.

But she couldn't rest. Mr. T would be sending fresh supplies down the chute soon as he began receiving customers. She had pies to make. Her business, suddenly popular, would have to be run. There were people in and out all day, soon as she turned the sign that read _open_ over in her window. She had laundry to do. The blood in Mr. T's shirts would set something horrible if she didn't was them soon as he got them to her. She was the only one who could do any of that. Who else could?

She pushed open her front door and was inundated by the sheer noise in the square. All the hustle and bustle around her sent an explosion of pain from the unreachable center of her head to every corner of her skull. Her vision went blurry. Her knees buckling, she heard the sound of the tray clatter to the pavement and Toby's brief cry of shock before the sidewalk rose up to meet her, or maybe that was just her rapid descent to the ground, but she felt the impact brutally nonetheless and blacked out.

"Mum!" Toby yelped. She certainly hadn't looked her best this morning, but he'd never imagined she'd collapse like that. He clambered out from behind the table, rushing to Mrs. Lovett's side. "Mum?! Are you alright?! Mum?!" He tried tapping her shoulder and then lightly shaking her, but neither worked. She wasn't waking up. He attempted lifting her himself, but his scrawny arms couldn't hold her. He set her arms down gently, folding on over her chest, and thought for a horrible instant that she may be dead. Just as panic was beginning to settle, her body trembled, and he realized that while she wasn't dead, her condition may worsen if he didn't do something, and fast.

Frantic, he leapt over her limp body and thundered up the wooden steps that led to Mr. Todd's barber shop, taking them two at a time. "Mr. Todd!" he cried out urgently, bursting through the shop in a frenzy. "Mr. Todd!"

Sweeney Todd sat in his barber chair after an almost entirely sleepless night, per usual. He could never find ease in sleep, when nightmares of his Lucy plagued him and revenge was hot on his mind. He twirled a straight razor in his fingers, watching it glisten in the dim, hazy light of early London, his lucky friend in particular. He'd already sharpened his blades to perfection, and had only to wait for customers to arrive.

He glanced away from his blade and looked dangerously at Toby. The child was a regular nuisance to him, barely redeeming himself by running the occasional errand, and had interrupted Mr. Todd in the midst of plotting his revenge. "What, boy?"

"Mrs. Lovett – She's fallen down – unconscious – I can't lift her –!" Toby choked out, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Calm down, lad," Mr. Todd said, lifting himself out of his chair. He kept the blade in his hand, unfolded. He was in a particularly bad mood, brooding away on the judge, and how he would have welcomed slitting the boy's throat. He would have done it long ago, had Mrs. Lovett not favored the child so.

"It's Mrs. Lovett, Sir!" Toby gasped, finally clutching onto a complete sentence. "She's collapsed at the base of the stairs when she was comin' up to bring your breakfast and she looks bad and I can't lift her on me own! Please, Sir!" he begged. "She's burnin' up somethin' awful and I think she may be really ill!"

"No need to panic, boy," Mr. Todd said gruffly, folding the blade and sheathing it. It would not be seeing blood this morning, evidently. He thrust open the door, the bell jingling merrily, an ironic, irritating little noise. "Come on." He let the boy out first and shut the door behind them, following Toby down the stairs at a casual pace, though the boy leapt down them several at a time, nearly toppling down the stairs on one occasion. Mrs. Lovett lay unconscious at the base of the steps, and a curious crowd of bystanders had gathered to gawk at the unconscious woman. Mr. T growled in his throat. He despised the way people derived entertainment from something as unfortunate as this; an ill woman, laying unmoving. Truly the vermin of the world.

"Move aside," Sweeney said, waving the crowd away. Some departed; others remained. Those that stayed to witness the rest moved back enough for Mr. Todd to step down to the sidewalk and kneel down on one knee next to Mrs. Lovett.. He placed a hand on her pale shoulder an frowned. She was much too warm for the cool morning air. Sighing heavily, he rolled her body into him and slid his hands beneath her back and under her knees, lifting her up off the ground. She hung limp in his arms. "Fool of a woman," he muttered, carrying her into the shop and through the kitchen, back towards her bedroom.

He went in and set her down on her bed before turning to Toby, who had followed him to the door but had not proceeded into the room after him. "Don't just stand there, boy," he said, looking at Toby like the boy was daft. "Bring cold water and some clean rags, quickly."

Toby scurried off at once, glad for two reasons. He'd be of some help to his surrogate mother, for one, and he'd be out of Mr. Todd's sight for a while. The barber made him nervous.

Mr. Todd returned his attention to Mrs. Lovett. Slightly hesitant, he placed his hand over her forehead and withdrew it nearly immediately. She wasn't merely warm, she was burning up. Sweeney grit his teeth and hissed, "Damn it." If the woman who covered up his murders was out of commission, his slitting throats was being put on hold.

Sweeney slowly pulled a straight razor, his faithful friend, from its sheath, contemplating the idea slowly gaining merit in his mind. Long ago, as an apprentice, he'd learned skills other than the skills that dealt with hair. Things like crude dentistry… things like bleeding fevers. In recent years, that job had fallen primarily to doctors, to surgeons, of course, but he could do it. He could bleed her himself, if he really wanted to. He had a deadly deftness about him, when he held a razor, this was true; but he knew very well he could restrain himself. Countless times, he had let men go from his shop, men he knew would be missed, men he had not killed. It would be easy, surely, to draw the blade across her wrists, her shoulders, to elicit blood from the incisions. It would be easy to bleed her himself.

Something in his chest, a fierce desire, flared as he flicked open the razor, hearing the lovely metallic _shink_ of silver. He imagined drawing it in a line across her pale skin, the crimson blood seeping out of the slits and dripping down her arms, dribbling down her fingers… how lovely it would be to watch the scarlet blood gushing from her pallid, slender neck…

Sweeney gasped and folded the blade, wrenching himself out of his bloody fantasy. _Yes, very intelligent_, he scolded himself furiously. _What on earth are you thinking?! Murdering your accomplice_?

Mr. Todd bit hard on his bottom lip, concentrating on the pain it elicited when he drew blood to erase any remnants of the fantasy, to wipe out the image of Mrs. Lovett's bloody neck. He slowly placed the blade back in its sheath and took a step away from the baker. He couldn't possibly bleed her himself. He wouldn't be able to stop. He'd accidentally kill her.

Toby burst back into the room, a bucket sloshing with water hanging from his arm and a fistful on clean rags clutched in one hand. Mr. Todd sauntered out past the boy, giving him instructions as he walked. "Now, you soak those rags and keep one on her forehead, cold as you possibly can, at all times. You understand me?"

"Yes, Sir," Toby nodded, dropping the rags into the bucket at once. "But where are you going?"

"Fetchin' the doctor. He'll fix her up right proper."

"Hurry, Sir," the boy pleaded, fishing out a rag and folding it, turning to Mrs. Lovett and laying it over her forehead as Mr. Todd strode out of the shop.

* * *

**I'm re-watching Sweeney Todd even know, trying to get a proper feel for the characters. I'm trying to keep this fic as in-character as possible, but what can you do with fluff, you know? Especially when the characters are all so dark…**

**So, how am I doing? Does anyone want to know what happens to Mrs. Lovett? Drop me a couple reviews, hm? I do this sort of thing primarily for my own enjoyment, but I like to know there are people out there who actually care whether or not I get my chapters out in timely fashion.**

"**At last! …My arm is complete again!"**

**Phantom, out!**


	2. Devotion

**Goodness, I got home from an absolutely horrid day of school today (senior year is not supposed to be as stressful as it is) and found five reviews waiting for me! Oh my gosh, you guys, you lifted my spirits right up! I love you so much for that! So, poor Mrs. Lovett is sick and unconscious, and Sweeney's gone for the doctor. What happens next? (Even I'm not sure at this point, I usually just go with whatever I decide to do when I'm writing. Haphazard, perhaps, but fun!)**

**(By the way, since I first wrote this introduction I've received three more reviews, and I would like to thank you very much for those as well.)**

**I love Sweenett fluff! I love thinking about where I'm going to go with it next!**

**Disclaimer: Sweeney Todd doesn't belong to me (sigh). But God knows the man belongs with me…**

* * *

Mr. Todd proceeded up the stairs to his shop for a few moments before his departure, retrieving his jacket and thicker coat and reluctantly flipping the sign in the front of the door from _Open_ to _Closed_. So many people he could have dealt with today. It was rather enthralling, knowing he held the lives of each man who came into his shop in the palm of his hand. This was even more so when he did make a man his victim, when he could feel their life's blood pulsing beneath his fingers as he drew the blade in a thin, expertly executed line across their neck.

He shook himself and shut the door. There would be no slitting throats at present, not without a way to cover up his murders. He had to set his priorities straight, and first thing was first: he'd have to fetch a doctor for Mrs. Lovett. The closest one was a couple streets away, on Upper 18th. He hadn't fancied a walk when he'd woken up that morning, but he supposed that was moot now. Sighing, he descended the stairs and stepped onto the sidewalk, taking to the streets without hesitation. Perhaps, if he was quick about it, he could be slitting throats again as early as tomorrow morning.

He sauntered through the streets, ignoring various beggars and merchants who attempted to catch his attention, navigating his way up the roads and past various shops, sneering at the apothecary as he passed it. He would hate the shop for as long as he lived, for selling his Lucy poison.

As Mr. Todd rounded a corner he nearly ran into a pair of gentlemen rounding the building. His every muscle tensed.

Judge Turpin looked him over slowly, a look of muted resentment in his expression. Beadle Bamford skulked behind him, a contemptuous look on his face, ever mirroring the emotions displayed by the judge.

"Mr. Todd," Judge Turpin greeted the barber as Sweeney clenched his fists and did his best to resist wrapping his fingers around one of his straight blades. It was a busy street. He couldn't kill an important public figure in the middle of a busy street. The law would have him in seconds, and Mrs. Lovett would soon follow him to imprisonment or worse, and he didn't particularly fancy going to the grave so soon.

"My lord," Todd greeted the judge through gritted teeth, trying very dearly to hide his abhorrence of the man standing in front of him.

"How very convenient I should run into you here, Mr. Todd," the judge said with contempt masked by politeness, and Sweeney dearly imagined ripping his throat out. A more personal way to kill, certainly. "I was making my way towards your shop, willing, in my compassion, to grace you with a second chance. How fortunate for me that I should be indirectly informed that you are currently…out."

"Second chance, sir?" Todd repeated, amazed his fury wasn't manifesting itself as a hideous outburst. A second chance? As in, the judge was willingly walking into his shop to be unwittingly the fault of his own demise?

Damn it! Damn it all to Hell!

"Perhaps I should return another day," the judge said coldly. "As you are running errands this particularly Thursday."

Mr. Todd offered him a pained smile; a smile reserved for his prey, the unsuspecting men who came into his barber shop in the late evening, not knowing they had been selected to pay for the sins of their city with their blood and their lives.

Was he going to throw this chance away? The opportunity to have his revenge, to make the man who imprisoned him for fifteen years, raped his wife, and stolen his daughter from him, pay for all the wickedness he had done?

But then, what of Mrs. Lovett?

Mr. Todd felt an irrepressible sensation of guilt festering in his stomach. The woman who overworked herself in the bakery below his shop, the woman who overworked herself for him - covering up his murders, pounding the blood of his victims out of his shirts, ensuring he didn't starve to death since he lacked any appetite – was ill. She was burning up, pale, weak, and her condition would only worsen if she didn't get help soon.

He was going to let that happen?

He could, of course. Except for the fact that he couldn't. Not when this damned guilt was boring into his stomach.

"My lord," he said in as close a manner to friendly as he could get. "An honor, sir, that you should consider gracing me with your patronage. I assure you, I shall be back to tending at my barbershop in the afternoon. At the moment, however, my proprietress is dreadfully ill, and I'm to be fetchin' the doctor for her. Any time after twelve, though, I welcome you to come in for a shave. The closest I ever gave, without a penny's charge. I guarantee it."

"Hm," the judge made a noise of disbelief. "We shall see." He beckoned Beadle forward and both men, though they would more accurately have been described as vultures, swept past Mr. Todd, who knew without a doubt that Judge Turpin would _not _be visiting him today.

Once both men were out of earshot Sweeney let the hideous, strangled cry of unspeakable rage he'd been restraining since he ran into the judge loose, and several passersby looked at him curiously.

He'd _had him_! Had him once more, so close, almost able to the judge's life's blood as it gushed from his neck, a marvelous waterfall of crimson. He'd _had him_! The judge was unsuspecting, pious as ever, going willingly to see Mr. Todd and he had thrown it all away to fetch some bloody doctor for a mere woman.

That damned, unexplainable guilt swelled again.

He sighed. Mrs. Lovett wasn't just a mere woman. If not for her, he'd have surely been caught by now, sent back to that living Hell in Australia as a murderer. That or he'd be swinging from his neck in the gallows. She single-handedly covered up his murders, did heaps of laundry soaked in blood, and ran her suddenly successful pie shop (the last with some help from a scrawny child, but still). She was far more than a mere woman.

But he had still let the judge slip through his fingers for her. Gritting his teeth and shoving his hands into his jacket pocket, skulking along the street, Mr. Todd muttered, "Bloody wonder of a woman. She'd damned well better be sick. I gave up everything for this."

* * *

**This is kind of short, but in my opinion it was well-executed. I've finally finished it, which is the good news! Now I've got to go work on updating my other Sweeney Todd fic. It never ends, does it? If you enjoy this one, maybe you want to check that one out? It's titled **_**Like Scattered Rose Petals**_** (which is supposed to be a simile for blood dotting the floor). It's an OC story, though… be warned.**

**Anyway, what do you think? I thought it was completely OOC of Sweeney to give up the judge like that, but it served the purpose of my story nicely, so please disregard it! He's such a sweetheart, giving up his revenge to help poor Mrs. Lovett!**

**I'm trying to get chapters posted once a week, but it's hard, so please bear with me. I currently have four I'm really gun-ho about. One's for an anime, and my most popular, so it kind of takes priority (sorry) but I also have my two **_**Sweeney**__**Todd**_**'s and one for **_**Van Helsing**_**. I try to do too much at once, but oh, well. It keeps my mind occupied when I'm bored.**

**Review, please? I'm begging you! Also, tell your friends! Get the word out! The more who read this story, the merrier!**

**Phantom, out!**


	3. Comfort

**I am back with chapter three! I am aware it took too long to write, and I apologize. I've been updating other fics, touring colleges, etc. And now here it is! Sweeney gave up a chance for revenge to fetch the doctor for Mrs. Lovett! And now, let us begin…**

**Disclaimer: Sweeney Todd does not belong to me. Stephen Sondheim hasn't yet answered my pleas.**

* * *

Sweeney came up to the doctor's house still muttering curses under his breath, damning the judge and Beadle Bamford to eternal suffering, and knocked impatiently on the door, his brow furrowed in frustration.

A middle-aged man, slightly older than Mr. Todd, opened the door, his graying brown hair damp and his suspenders not fully done, opened the door, looking at the barber in a way that suggested he thought he were an apparition rather than a man. "Can I help you?"

"You a doctor?" Sweeney asked, drumming his fingers on the doorframe.

"Dr. Edmund Tinsworth at your service," the man introduced himself, opening the door wider and extending his hand to Sweeney in greeting.

Mr. Todd ignored the gesture. "I need you to come with me. Down to Fleet Street. My landlady's fallen ill. You may know Mrs. Lovett?"

"Lovett? The pie woman?"

"That'd be 'er."

The doctor whistled and ran a hand through his hair. "All right. Wait a moment while I gather me things."

Sweeney paced outside the door impatiently, still muttering to himself, until the doctor reemerged from the door, wearing a jacket over his shirt and holding a black bag. Mr. Todd felt a shudder run down his spine as he heard instruments inside of it clinking together. He had never liked doctors much, and their instruments made him uneasy.

"How long has she been ill?" Dr. Tinsworth asked as he and Mr. Todd set off down the street, moving along at a brisk pace.

"Can't say. All I know is that her apprentice boy came bursting into my shop this morning shouting about how she was sick and had collapsed at the bottom of the stairs."

"Does she have a fever?"

"She's burnin' up."

Dr. Tinsworth pursed his lips, thinking. "At this rate, it sounds like it could be one of two things. There's been a nasty cold making its way through London, but the flu's been abundant this year as well."

Mr. Todd, unable to think of a response, shrugged and continued walking. As long as there was a name for what Mrs. Lovett had and a cure, he didn't feel he had anything to worry about. Except for he was worried. And that made him uneasy.

It'd been fifteen years since he'd worried about anyone – namely, Lucy and Johanna. Worrying for other people was, while vaguely familiar, in other ways entirely new to him.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett opened her eyes, starting into alertness. She'd been dreaming, though about what she couldn't remember. Not a good dream. She'd been terrified.

"Mum!" she heard Toby gasp, and she jolted, surprised, looking towards the boy. He hesitated, holding a wet cloth over a bucket. "You all right?" he asked timidly.

Mrs. Lovett started to get up, but the room began to spin and she fell back onto her bed. "Goodness," she breathed, dazed. "What happened, dear?" She remembered not feeling well, but had she actually blacked out?

"You fainted, Mum," Toby explained, laying the cloth on her forehead. It felt wonderfully cool. "At the bottom of the stairs to Mr. Todd's. He carried you in here and went to fetch the doctor for you."

"Carried me?" Mrs. Lovett repeated, blushing. Or at least, she thought she did. She may have been too flushed with fever to blush properly. "Oh, my."

"I been real worried, Mum," Toby said, sitting cross legged on the floor near her head, the bucket close to him. "You're pale a ghost."

"Am I really?" Mrs. Lovett asked weakly, imagining what Mr. Todd must have thought, seeing her like this. She couldn't possibly be attractive to any degree at the moment. But… he had carried her inside. He was fetching a doctor for her. He had to have felt _something._ And even if that something was merely pity, she'd take it.

She heard the door of her shop open and Mr. Todd calling, somewhat quietly, "Toby?"

"In here still, sir. She's awake now!" Toby called back.

Mr. Todd came into the room first, followed closely by a man Mrs. Lovett did not recall having ever seen before. He was a tall man with graying brown hair and bright blue eyes. "So she is," Mr. Todd said, glancing at Mrs. Lovett. "This is Dr. Tinsworth, pet."

"Nice to meet you," Mrs. Lovett mumbled, her eyes trained on the man's black bag. "Toby, why don't you run along now to the market? It's gettin' a little crowded in here."

Toby remained where he was. "But—"

"No, that's a good idea," Mr. Todd interrupted him. "Do as she says. We've got things all under control 'ere."

Toby chewed reluctantly on his bottom lip, but eventually got up and slipped past Mr. Todd and Dr. Tinsworth out of the room.

Mrs. Lovett sighed. "Thank goodness. I didn't want him to see the…" she paused. "Blood." While she was perfectly fine seeing other peoples' blood, her own made her queasy. Chop a person up, sure! But watching blood coming out of her own body… it made her feel like she was going to throw up. Not good when one is already sick.

"Mrs. Lovett, is it?" Dr. Tinsworth asked, pulling a chair up next to her, careful to avoid the bucket of water Toby left at her side. "How are you feeling?"

Mr. Todd leaned against the wall behind Mrs. Lovett's head, his arms crossed, not particularly keen on getting in the way as Mrs. Lovett replied, "Well, it started as just a headache. Then I got a fever and started getting dizzy. The boy told me I collapsed this mornin'."

"Right at the base of me stairs," Mr. Todd added.

"Oh, Mr. T, you're still here?" Mrs. Lovett asked breathlessly. She'd thought he'd gone out. She strained her neck so she could see him, lurking hear the door. "You don't need to be 'ere, love. Why don't you get yourself some breakfast – I never did get up the stairs to bring you yours this mornin'."

He shook his head, resolute. "I'll stay, if it's all the same to you."

The doctor removed the cloth from her forehead and pressed a hand against her cheek, checking her temperature. "That's quite an impressive fever," he commented.

"Yes, well, I supposed if I was going to fall ill I may as well do it in style," Mrs. Lovett joked weakly, and the doctor smiled.

"I've seen worse this season," he assured her, probing the glands in her neck. "No swelling… I think we can rule out strep throat. You haven't felt at all stuffy?"

Mrs. Lovett shook her head. "I can breathe jus' fine."

Dr. Tinsworth peered into her eyes, widening one then the other. "Red and watering," he observed.

"That mean anythin' special?" Mrs. Lovett asked.

"Well, dear," he said, opening his back and pulling out a thick rolled up sheet of leather. As he unrolled it, Mrs. Lovett caught the glint of silver medical instruments tucked into its pockets, and she looked away. "You've caught a touch of the flu, I reckon. Very simple cure nowadays. I'm surprised your barber friend didn't take care of it 'imself, to be quite honest."

Sweeney let out a noise of resentment and started tapping his toe, slightly irritable. If he'd been _able _to bleed her, didn't the man think he _would_ have?

Scanning his tools, the doctor selected a surgical razor. Mrs. Lovett, pale already, went an unhealthy shade of pasty white. Both Sweeney and Dr. Tinsworth took note of this.

"Nervous?" the doctor asked.

Mrs. Lovett shut her eyes and attempted to breathe normally, but they were coming out quick and not doing her much good as far as oxygen intake. "Little bit," she managed to reply.

The doctor pursed his lips, thinking, and then looked towards Mr. Todd. "I say, sir, would you mind coming over 'ere a moment and assisting me?"

Mr. Todd stared at him for a good few seconds, then pushed himself away from the wall to go stand beside the doctor's chair. "What exactly would you have me do?"

"Just… distracting her, I suppose would be the best way to put it," the doctor said, nodding slowly. "Keep her mind off things for a bit. Offer her comfort if she needs it. Often times nervous patients move about and risk the possibility of being seriously injured, you see."

Mr. Todd looked blankly back at him. He could barely remember how to comfort someone. First the worry, which he was re-discovering at present, and now he was being tasked with comforting Mrs. Lovett? Could he even do that?

"The procedure is very simple," Dr. Tinsworth said reassuringly, to both Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd, who looked taken aback by his proposal to comfort the baker. "It'll be quick, but the pain does vary a bit." To just Mr. Todd, he added, "You'll just need to make sure she doesn't distress herself over this. I'll need to make several incisions."

Mr. Todd felt something tugging at his heart when a whimper slipped past Mrs. Lovett's lips. She gritted her teeth, trying to hold back a fresh one gathering in her throat. She didn't want to be a bother to Mr. T. He obviously was dismayed by the doctor's request, though she had been somewhat delighted when he'd first spoken it. But she preferred Mr. Todd happy, even if it resulted in a little fear and pain on her behalf. (**A/N See, Sweeney! She DOES love you! Now be a man and comfort the woman! Sorry, continuing now.**)

Mr. Todd turned his attention to Mrs. Lovett. Her eyes were shut tight and her jaw was clenched. He couldn't let her endure alone. He had to do as the doctor asked. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he didn't.

An image of Lucy, a memory surfaced from nearly seventeen years ago, swam to the surface of his mind. She hadn't liked doctors very much, either, and when she was sick and the doctor had called, he'd comforted her, held her hand throughout the entire procedure. It used to come so naturally to him. Why couldn't that fragment of Benjamin Barker come out when he needed it to?

He tried very hard to remember. Slowly, he reached towards Mrs. Lovett and slid his hand beneath the base of her spine, lifting the top half of her body until there was space enough for him to seat himself on the end of her bed, which he did, and then he eased her head into his lap. He could recall doing that for Lucy once upon a time.

Mrs. Lovett stared up at him in shock. He was staring determinedly at the wall, but the very fact that he had willingly placed her head in his lap was enough to set her drowning in infatuation. "Mr. T?" she whispered.

He glanced down at her.

Then she felt the doctor grip her wrist and the tip of the blade on the inside of her forearm, and she let out a small noise of both surprise and fear, and Mr. Todd, to his surprise, impulsively grabbed onto her hand – the one attached to the arm not being cut – and held it tight. Maybe he hadn't entirely forgotten, after all.

The blade slid across her pallid skin, blood dribbling out of the incision as Mrs. Lovett let out a small moan, unable to repress it. She squeezed Mr. Todd's hand as though it were attaching her to life itself. Mr. Todd looked down at her and was appalled to see a tear trickling down her cheek.

The doctor made his next incision below the first. Mrs. Lovett's body trembled with a racking sob. Dr. Tinsworth cast Mr. Todd a meaningful glance. Mr. Todd stared back at him, silently inquiring what else he should do. The doctor just gave him a look that told him to do _something_.

Mr. Todd dropped Mrs. Lovett's hand as Dr. Tinsworth reached for it, and he took her other in his, careful to avoid getting her blood on his palm, and began combing through her wildly curly red hair with his other hand. As Dr. Tinsworth drew the blade across the skin of her other arm and Mrs. Lovett whimpered again, Mr. Todd heard himself saying, "There, there, my love. It's alright."

Where had that come from? Another suppressed memory from his days with Lucy, perhaps? How convenient it should show up now.

The doctor made a final slit in her arm and withdrew the blade. Mr. Todd kept murmuring reassurances to Mrs. Lovett, persisting in running his fingers through her hair, as Dr. Tinsworth bandaged both her arms. He wiped off the blade and wrapped it in the cloth, setting it into his back separate from the rest of his tools. "There you are, Mrs. Lovett, it's done," he announced. "You should start feeling the results in a day or two. Until then, I'd recommend plenty of liquids and maybe a cool bath to bring your fever down a little more quickly."

Mrs. Lovett had wrapped her arms around Mr. Todd, seeking more comfort before he would draw away, loving the way he had held her hand, reassured her, combed through her hair with his fingers. She just wanted more of that before he'd pull away from her and return to his business.

"Thank you, sir," Mr. Todd said, maneuvering around Mrs. Lovett's arms and sliding his hand into his pocket, pulling a wad of money from it. He pulled away a few pound notes and held them out for the doctor.

Dr. Tinsworth took them with a grateful nod. As he stood up and shut his bag, he said, "Feel free to come by if anything else comes up." With that, he took his leave.

Mr. Todd sighed and, realizing Mrs. Lovett's arms were still wrapped around his midsection, placed a hand on her back and awkwardly rubbed it in circles, trying to draw on more of what he could remember about comforting Lucy to utilize in this situation. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked.

Mrs. Lovett shook her head, biting on her bottom lip. "I've never liked the sight of me own blood," she whispered.

Mr. Todd found that amusing for some reason. "It's all right," he said, smiling to himself. He had thought her somewhat fearless. "You're all right. I'm here, pet. I'm here."

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**Maybe too OOC near the end… (sigh). But overall, I'm happy with this chapter. It's not over! More to come! Please don't be mad if it takes a little over a week… my life doesn't allow for lots and lots of writing… and I've other stories to update…**

**Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, and please review! Reviews are my oxygen! You don't want me to die, right?! Review!**

**Phantom, out!**


	4. Cooking

**It has been too long. Are you all ready to murder me yet? I know I would be. I hate it when stories are not updated in a timely fashion. But, what are you going to do? Life, unfortunately, beckons to me at every turn and I have not had the time to sit down and pound out all four chapters to my different stories in nearly a week. I apologize. So, without further explanation and no more ado, I give you chapter four.**

**Disclaimer: No matter how much I pray, I still own nothing, and certainly not the characters I am writing lives for.**

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Mr. Todd sat still as a statue for another five minutes while Mrs. Lovett regained her composure. It took that long for her to stop trembling, and once her body was no longer quivering he felt safe to slide his hands beneath her back and hold her upright so he could climb off her bed, replacing the pillow that had been displaced when he'd sat down before he lowered her head back down. With a ragged sigh he knelt down and fished a cold and wet rag from the bucket Toby had left at the side of her bed, wringing it out and folding it before he laid it over Mrs. Lovett's forehead.

The corners of her lips twitched, but she did not smile. "You getting' back to work, then, Mr. T?" she asked, not sure what she wanted him to reply with. It was nice having someone to take care of her, but it was Mr. Todd, after all. She had loved him when he was Benjamin Barker and she loved him even more now, when he was Sweeney Todd. But because she loved him, it made her situation almost repellant to her. She wanted him to take care of her; then again, that made him uncomfortable, and she only cared for his happiness – which is why it was killing her, watching him self-destruct over Lucy. And, of course, she hated that he was seeing her like this – paler than usual, sweaty, shaking, and wildly unattractive therefore.

Mr. Todd's expression was unreadable. He didn't know whether or not he was going back to tend his shop. On the one hand, there were throats to slit; but the person who took care of the bodies was in no condition to do so. But then, there was Mrs. Lovett's condition. He didn't trust Toby to care for her properly. That boy, while entirely devoted to his surrogate mother, was all too liable to screw things up. "Dunno yet," he replied at long last, running a hand through his hair, over the white stripe that Mrs. Lovett found so wonderfully striking. And, on the verge of blushing, he turned on his heel and slipped out of the room, amazed by his racing heart. The hope in her eyes… something about those eyes made his heart pound.

He sank into an armchair in the living room, holding his head. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? _Lucy_, he reminded himself fiercely. _Your wife. Revenge is all that matters. Throats to slit. Vengeance to be had. Make them pay with their blood_.

But that exhilaration, the intense pleasure that came with digging into the necks of men with his razors and slicing into them – eliciting their life's blood from their throats – was far different from the exhilaration of being with Mrs. Lovett. She made his very blood boil with an animal want, a fierce desire. Even when he was courting Lucy, he had never felt such an attraction. It was distracting; yet it was necessary. If those moments with Mrs. Lovett, that feral yearning for _her_, were to cease, he would go entirely crazy.

_NO_! He hurled himself from his thoughts, forcing himself to focus on reality. That was dangerous territory. _Lucy. Revenge. Lucy_. That was what mattered to him. _Judge Turpin must die_. He had to set his sights on that. That was his purpose. It was all that mattered. He had to fulfill that purpose. _Lucy was raped by Judge Turpin_, he reminded himself bitterly. _He must pay. His life won't be nearly enough – but it's the most he has to offer_.

And the sooner Mrs. Lovett was well again, the sooner he could return to business. Therefore, his priority should be ensuring Mrs. Lovett's health was restored. He told himself it was logical; there was nothing emotional to be had. It was business. And yet a piece of himself in the corner of his mind purred with satisfaction. Mrs. Lovett was weak and utterly dependant. She'd have to cling to him – metaphorically, he mused – and she'd be indebted to him.

Thoughts of just how she could repay him ran thick and wildly inappropriate through his mind, and he had to give himself another mental shove to focus on the task at hand. He ran through a checklist in his head. She had seen a doctor. She'd been bled. She was resting.

She hadn't eaten. That would have to come first. Mr. Todd grimaced at what that meant. He'd have to take the liberty and cook something for the first time in over fifteen years. It wasn't as though he could feed her meat pies. That thought was repugnant even to him, letting her eat human meat when she was ill. Now that he thought about it, was it the human meat that made her ill in the first place? They had consumed a meat pie or two every few days, and while the taste was by far superior, there was the contents to think about. But then, no; the meat had been cooked. Wouldn't any disease have been burned away? How had she gotten sick?

He'd think about it later. For now, there was cooking to be attempted.

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The simple task of making soup was even challenging to him. He had started with the basics; one of Mrs. Lovett's few pots sat on the stove, which he had lit already. He'd filled it with water, too, but the rest of it remained a mystery to him. Cooking. Not a talent he thought he would ever exercise again.

He wondered briefly where Toby was. Maybe the boy knew something about making soup. He was the one who spent all day with Mrs. Lovett, after all. His jaw clenched with frustration, Sweeney began scouring the cupboards for something useful; a recipe, and instruction book, even a bloody list of ingredients crumpled up and forgotten in a corner. Nothing.

He glanced at the bookshelf, the end of which he could see sitting in the hall, and proceeded to it. His eyes found the word _cookbook_ and he snatched it off the shelf without another thought. He flipped through the pages until he found a page labeled _soup_, paused on it, and perused the recipe. _Chicken broth_, the title of the page read. Seemed simple enough. All he really needed was a chicken and some salt, and an onion if he could find one.

As if he had sensed he was needed, Toby clambered into the shop, clutching a paper bag from which various exotic aromas wafted; he'd gone to the market and restocked the spices, like Mrs. Lovett had told him. He froze at the sight of Mr. Todd and then inched around the counter, stacking white bags of his purchases in the cupboards while throwing cautious glances back at the barber. Sweeney smirked with amusement. It was exactly a time like this that kept him from slitting the boy's throat every other day. Fishing a pound note from his pocket, he said, "I've got an errand for you, boy."

Toby shut the last cupboard and crumpled up the bag. "Yes, sir?" he asked cautiously, slowly approaching Sweeney.

Mr. Todd held out the pound note and the boy took it from him. "There's a butcher just up the street there. I need you to get a chicken. The biggest you can get for that amount. You understand?"

Toby looked a little put-out; he felt he had barely been in the shop since he'd woken up. First he'd had to run to the market, and now he being sent to the butcher's. He didn't mind running errands, usually, but two in such quick succession when he was eager to see how Mrs. Lovett was holding up threw him for a bit of a loop. But Mr. Todd frightened him, and he felt that bad things would happen if he didn't do as the barber asked. "Yes, sir," Toby replied. "But do you mind if I just pop in on Mum for a moment to see how—?"

"No," Mr. Todd interrupted him, a little too forcedly. Toby gave a small start. "She needs 'er rest and you'll only distract 'er. To the butcher's. You understand?"

Toby nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Go, then," Mr. Todd said briskly, and the boy hurried out of the shop.

The butcher's was not far; Mr. Todd anticipated Toby would be back within fifteen minutes. He found the salt in a low cupboard and threw a handful into the water on the stove, and then sat down at the table by the window, holding his head, to wait for the boy and battle with his thoughts, which were growing increasingly more occupied with Mrs. Lovett.

When he heard the door open, he looked up expecting Toby with a chicken, but instead of a small, seedy boy with a mess of black hair holding a dead bird, he found a tall young man with a curtain of dirty-blonde hair in the door. "Mr. Todd," Anthony greeted him with a sigh, slouching into a seat across from the barber.

"Any luck?" Sweeney asked gruffly. He couldn't deal with Anthony at the moment. The boy was, admittedly, the only positive link he had to his daughter, but most of the time he just found Anthony annoying.

"I've searched everywhere, sir; I can't even begin to think of where she might be," Anthony replied. He was entirely unaware of Mr. Todd's relation to Johanna, concerned only with finding her so they could run away and start a life. He was head over heels about her and he hadn't even spoken to her. A tragedy worthy of Shakespeare. What if he never found her?

"Well, keep looking. She'll turn up." Mr. Todd wanted Anthony to leave. He obviously had no good news to share and Sweeny was preoccupied enough without having to deal with the lovesick boy pursuing his daughter.

"What are you doing down here, anyway, sir?" Anthony asked. "I went upstairs first. Why's your shop closed today?"

More irritating questions. Sighing, Mr. Todd opened his mouth to inform Anthony about the condition of his landlady and hopefully drop a few hints that he should leave, but Toby clambered back into the shop at that moment, struggling to hold a rather large chicken in his scrawny arms. For fear that he would drop it, Mr. Todd got to his feet and took the bird from the boy, dumping it on the counter before beginning his search for one of Mrs. Lovett's knives.

Anthony stared, baffled, at the chicken. "What on earth are you doing?"

Toby, glad to be relieved of the heavy dead bird, slumped into Mr. Todd's vacated seat, brooding a little. He wanted to go see Mrs. Lovett, but he knew Mr. Todd wouldn't allow it.

"I am… _attempting_ to cook, if you must know," Mr. Todd said reluctantly, realizing how idiotic it sounded. "Chicken broth."

"Mrs. Lovett is dreadful ill, sir," Toby elaborated for Anthony. "Mr. Todd had to run and get a doctor this mornin' for her." He looked to the barber and asked reservedly. "Did he say anything about what she had, Sir?"

"Flu. Nothing much to worry about," Mr. Todd muttered barely loud enough for Toby and Anthony to hear him as he pulled a knife from a drawer and examined the blade. It wasn't like holding his razors. It felt unnatural in his hand. But chopping raw meat would ruin his blades, not to mention look absolutely ludicrous.

"Ah. Well, tell her get well from me, then," Anthony said, finally taking the hint and standing to leave. "I wish you luck with your… chicken." Mr. Todd nodded his farewell to the boy and Anthony bowed out of the shop.

Mr. Todd ignored Toby, who was watching him from his chair at the table, and chopped up about half of the chicken, throwing pieces into the cooking pot as the water boiled. He had the child locate a few vegetable after a bit and the boy threw those into the pot with the chicken.

Mr. Todd, satisfied with the broth after several interminable minutes of stirring the damned brew, found the bowls and pulled a couple down, filling both and handing one to the boy to eat and picking the other up for Mrs. Lovett. _Time to go see how that bloody wonder of a woman is doing, then_, he thought to himself, going through the hall to the living room and proceeding to Mrs. Lovett's bedroom.

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**Fin! Not long… not excellent… I apologize again.**

**I threw Anthony in here for a bit, per request of one of you readers. I'm not sure if he'll make another appearance. He isn't very involved in this story, I'm afraid. (Actually, I don't like him too terribly much because he ruined a possible happy ending for Mr. Todd not just once, but twice…) I hope you enjoyed this short little excuse of a chapter and please send me your reviews! I won't post another chapter without at least one review on this one! I'm serious! ...Maybe. Just review for me.**

**Phantom, out!**


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